


Worth the Wait

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [44]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Teenage Greg Lestrade worked at coffee shop. It takes him nearly a year to ask the tall, dark ginger-haired regular customer a question...





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Coffee

“Go have a seat. I’ll bring you your custom order because today you’re going to tell me your name.” Greg Lestrade announced to the college student that stood in queue.

“Pardon?” Cool blue eyes assessed him with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson were on the register taking orders; Greg and Stella Hopkins were at the coffee stations making them.

The student looked to be a year or so younger than his own twenty years of age but going by the various tomes he carried, he was taking graduate level courses which made him smart, very smart. Still, whoever he was, he was not anything like the average university student. While most wore khakis, jeans, t-shirts or polos, and trainers. He only wore a three-piece suits, suits with ties and pocket squares and likely has not worn trainers since A-Levels. Granted, they was expensive looking bespoke suits, which fit him perfectly. They cut seemed to make his long legs go on forever. Greg suspected he wore the suits to add maturity to his otherwise very serious, but youthful appearance.

“You’ve been a regular customer at this shop for a nearly a year. You pay by cash, you never give a name. You’re either standing there waiting for your to-go cup or you answer when we call out your order or we bring it to you. You know all of our names first and last. I’m declaring today Honesty Day - after a year I honestly want know: what is your name?” Greg announced. “Now go find a seat.”

The tall dark ginger-haired teenager's expression went from disbelief to disdain, but the amusement held. It was all minute movements in his ever-stoic face that one would miss if not looking straight at him and sometimes even then. It is a handsome face with its brow that said so much and yet nothing depending on how its raised and lips that rarely give an honest smile, but when it does… 

Let’s just say Greg Lestrade has looked at that face a few times a week for this past year and he was no closer to solving the mystery of the student than he was on the day he first walked in the door of Killa Kuppa and insulted Phillip’s coffee making skills.

“Good luck with that.” Stella sniffed under her breath as prepped an order.

“Oh? Do pray tell how you and your cast of caffeinated renegades have referred to me behind my back for the past year then? Since you’ve declared this is _Honesty Day_ and all…”

Greg knew the tables would get turned on him, he hadn’t expected them to turn on him quite that quickly however.

Phillip called him His Royal Heinous. Sally Donovan, called him Le Posh. Dimmock prefers The Adder. Stella calls him the Reptile Rouge, and Franky and his wife Marcy who owned the coffee shop called him Mr. Freeze. Greg could not find fault with any of the descriptives. The teen gave off a cool detachment that was off-putting at best, outright rude when he was in a mood – which seemed to be often, and downright viperish when pushed. Phil seemed to be the one who caught the foulest of his moods and the usually well-deserved verbal take down.

Greg grimaced as he told of the names his colleagues have christened the teen.

“I see… Well, I cannot say that I find fault with any of it from their view.” The smallest ever crinkle of his nose appeared displaying his droll amusement before those eyes that seem to see everything focused on him. “And you? What do you call me? Remember, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Greg did indeed know that. The teen was a human lie detector, but at least he had tact when calling someone out on subterfuge. The crew had the pleasure of meeting his little brother and what a delight he turned out to be!

_cough-bullshit-cough_

“I call you the College Kid from all those graduate level books you’re studying. You really are as smart as you look.” Greg answered truthfully. 

Greg made a point of only referring to him as the College Kid out loud, but on the inside, when he imagined what the College Kid would feel like in his arms, he called him _My Man_. That was something he was NOT going to say.

“Oh, there’s more.” The teen gave a toothy grin. It was one that showed his dread of the answer. “Tell me.”

Greg took off his baseball cap and ran a rough hand through his dark hair brushing it out of his face only for it to partially fall back into it before replacing the cap.

“Never you mind, stupid game.” Greg grumbled as went to wash his hands after messing with his hair again.

“Oh, no, no, no I insist on hearing this, Grégoire.”

Oh, and there was that pronunciation again. 

Greg barely just barely suppressed the grin that wanted to break free at the French pronunciation of his name, so few got it right and the teen’s pronunciation was perfect. Nearly a year and only he ever called Greg by his proper name and in that pronunciation. Still, Greg just knew, he was trying to get out of giving his name and Greg was not about to let slide, no matter how much that pronunciation did…things.

“And I said go find a seat before all your favored spots are taken.”

“Uh huh…” College Kid raised brow as he sauntered away.

“God, he strolls like he runs the world.” Stella shook her head “My older sister has a few of the books I’ve seen him with. I think he graduates soon if he’s reading those.”

If he was scheduled to graduate, he may not come back to the shop, ever. As far as Greg was concerned that was all the more reason to get his name.

Greg smirked to himself as he prepped a coffee.

“Oh, he’s going to rip you a new one, Greg. Jesus Christ this will be fun!” Stella raised a surprised brow as she watched while Greg worked on the order for the college kid.

Greg looked at the clock. It was perfect - he was on break. He handed Stella his work apron.

“Clock me out and, pray for me, I’m going in.” Greg slid the finished cup complete with a design in the foam on a serving tray.

“Oh, that sounds so wrong.” Stella laughed as Greg walked from the station. “Good luck.”

“Here you go.” Greg placed the cup and saucer on the table along with a saucer with biscotti.

Greg again noticed the light smattering of freckles that dotted the bridge of a hawkish nose that crinkled slightly at the foam teddy bear.

“Meretricious.” College Kid was not amused as he brought the cup to his lips.

“And a Happy New Year.” Greg deadpanned.

The student rolled his eyes at the joke and Greg would have been furious, but not surprised, if the coffee had been poured out onto the table out of spite.

Instead, the reaction was very surprised and very favorable.

“This…is not what I asked for. Nor is it on the menu.”

Greg already knew from experience that College Kid had the entire menu memorized. He scanned it slightly when he entered and knew immediately when seasons and offerings changed and would memorize the new menu. He certainly would know what was not on it without looking at it again.

“No. It is my personal blend and it is better than what you wanted. It is how I take my coffee when I want to be indulgent.” Greg suppressed his satisfied smile.

He then slid a dessert plate with two biscotti. “And hey, we’re trying out this new brand of biscotti. We’d like your opinion on the pairing – if you don’t mind.”

“Pairing? It’s coffee Grégoire Lestrade, not wine.” He sniffed. “And you’re lying. You’ve always had these.”

“You know I’m so done with you.” Greg frowned.

“What begets this mood switch and how does it relate to me?”

“Dip it, taste it and then lie to me and tell me they don’t taste fantastic together. If you can, I’ll walk away and never ask for your name again. If you can’t I want your honest answer to the question.” Greg folded his arms across his chest.

“And what question would that be again?” The faux coy innocence as he looked up at him nearly made Greg laugh.

“I want your full name. It’s so unfair how much I like the way my name rolls so beautifully from those posh lips I want to kiss so badly, but I can’t return the favor... Oh shite…”

Greg blanched, that was considerably more than he had intended to say.

“Excuse me?” Those beautiful blue eyes that have intrigued Greg for nearly a year went wide in surprise. It was subtle, but Greg knew it for what it was.

“Bloody fuck…I…I didn’t mean…I mean…I… _did_ mean it…I…oh fuck!” Greg cringed and shut his mouth tightly before more things that are not supposed to be said fell out of it.

Greg just knew any chance of College Kid telling his name flew out the window with those words.

“My name is Mycroft David Alexander Holmes.” Then it was the student who next cringed, clearly not having meant to say so much.

“Excuse me?” It was Greg’s turn to be surprised. “You had yet to try the biscotti…”

Mycroft David Alexander Holmes. Greg rolled the name around in his mind and smiled. He liked it, an unusual name for an unusual man.

“Oh right…wait.” The teen dipped the biscotti, licked it and then bit it. 

Greg knew Mycroft could not have lied if he tried. Greg knew this because the first time he dipped the biscotti into his special blend and tried it he had all but moaned out loud in rapture. The pleasure of the combination was written all over Mycroft’s face before he could think to school it. He then took another bite and did not try.

“Oh… oh sweet lord… Grégoire.” was said breathlessly.

Greg smiled as he sat in the empty seat next to Mycroft.

Mycroft’s eyes roamed over him as if he had just made an important decision.

“You still owe me an honest answer.” Mycroft said after a moment. “And I owe you one.”

“What?”

“I gave you my name before tasting the biscotti with the coffee. This earned you another question.” Mycroft took another bite, his eyes closing in pleasure for a moment,.“Make it the right question, Grégoire.”

There was something about the way he said his name. Greg felt he had to be reading more into than what was there. Why would someone so smart be interested in him?

“What do you call me that you don’t want them to know, Grégoire?” Those blue eyes seemed extra sparkling as they stared deeply at him.

“Something I hope to call you someday…”

“Oh…?”

“Mycroft, you only come here when you know I’m on shift. I know you know what time my shift is over. If I promise you I kiss better than that tastes, will you let me?”

A heated silence spread between them as Mycroft blinked rapidly.

“ _That_ is the right question. The veracity of which will be determined when you are off duty in two hours and twenty-seven minutes.” Mycroft looked at him over the rim of his cup as he sipped his coffee.

“Then I should probably confess something first.” Greg pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Mycroft.

Mycroft looked at the item as he took it and groaned “Why that little…! When?”

“Two days ago.”

Greg told him how Phillip, refused sell the already hyper kid an extra-large black, triple shot without an adult present. Because of it Anderson now sported a nice shiner, delivered by his now ex-girlfriend, after the ten-year-old little terror purposely asked the girl if she had noticed that the lipstick on Phillip’s lips matched Sally Donovan’s and not hers. The kid just grinned at the ensuing row before his parents arrived apologizing profusely as the mother grabbed him by the ear and got him out of there.

“I was just coming from my lunch break when it all unfolded. His haughty bearing is a dead copy of you and while you don’t really favor each other except in brain power, you both resemblance your parents. I knew the brat had to be a little brother. Phillip gave me the credit card later on after the terror left it at the counter. It was either your father’s card or yours. Going by the membership date I suspected yours.” Greg finished sheepishly.

“So, you already knew my name. Why go through the charade of asking?” Mycroft took the credit card and put it in his wallet.

“Because I wanted you to give me your name because _you wanted_ me to have it. It means more.”

“And what if I had lied? I had considered it, before your accidental confession.”

“Then I would have known you for a liar and not worthy of my desire for you. I would have given you your card, walked away and right now, two people would lament the missed opportunity.” Greg answered honestly.

“Grégoire, you desire me?” Mycroft seemed genuinely surprised. 

“Mycroft…please. Stop saying my name like that.” Greg shook his head as he looked at Mycroft. “Unless you mean it.”

“Grégoire… What do you hope to call me someday?”

Mycroft had let his guard was down and Greg saw there was something so incredibly raw and innocent in the asking.

Greg realized all the while he had wondered if someone like Mycroft would be interested in someone like him, it never dawned on him that someone like Mycroft would question it in reverse. 

Greg didn’t realize he was going to do it until he felt Mycroft’s fingers slip into his dark curls hair in reciprocation of his own fingers that twisted in the strands at Mycroft’s dark Auburn nape.

“Someday I hope to call you…” Greg finally answered the question as he pulled away. “Mine…”

Mycroft cleared his throat as he checked his pocket watch. “Your break is almost over, Grégoire. You get off shift in two hours eighteen minutes. I feel a more private investigation of verisimilitude is warranted.”

“Oh, _bien sûr Monsieur_.” Greg grinned as he rose. “See you in two hours eighteen minutes.”

* * *

“Wait, that can’t be right – how could Lestrade have proven his veracity way back then?” John looked from Mycroft to Greg.

“Clearly he did prove it…” Sherlock teased.

“He did… Eventually…” Mycroft scratched at his eyebrow with his ring finger, amused but a little embarrassed as Greg rolled his eyes in his own amusement

“No! He stood you up back then, didn’t he?” John winced as he read the body language of the two men. “For how long?”

“Not long. Almost fifteen years.” Greg answered, clearly not upset about it.

Sherlock did the math of the years in his head. “Oh, was that when Uncle Rudy…?”

“When he sent me on my first mission? Yes, that very afternoon.” Mycroft confirmed. “I was gone for seven weeks. I barely was able to explain things to uni to get my doctorate. I certainly could not explain any of that to Gregory then. When I finally got the nerve to go back to the shop he was gone. He was right, I sorely lamented the lost opportunity.”

“So, you two did not see each other again until you met again because of Sherlock?” John whistled. “Wow!”

“Yeah, but we were no longer those kids anymore.” Greg admitted. “Neither of us knew what to say to each other, so we said nothing and started from scratch.”

“But the statement was eventually verified and worth the wait.” Mycroft held out his hand to his husband, an indulgent smile on his face. “Grégoire.”

Greg grinned as he took the offered hand in his, the name and the pronunciation that still did…things….all these years later. 

“Very much worth it.”


End file.
